


The End of the Beginning

by MaryAnne615



Category: Female M (James Bond) - Fandom, James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), Skyfall - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:25:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryAnne615/pseuds/MaryAnne615
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set between Quantum of Solace and Skyfall.  Bond's post-mission evening is interrupted by news of a distress call from M's house.  </p><p>My first attempt at a multi-chapter story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After All Is Said and Done

The mobile was so close and yet so far away. She was trying so hard to focus but the fog was coming in too fast and consuming everything: sound, light, coherent thought. All she needed was a finger on the ‘9’ key for five seconds to alert MI6 of trouble, but the fog was getting in the way of everything.

There, finally, mobile in hand. 

Which key is ‘9’? Where is it? Why is it so difficult to find?

The mobile weighs as much as a brick. Why are her hands not moving?

There, there’s the ‘9’ key.

Press it! 

Can’t hold it, the fog is too powerful, getting thicker and darker by the second. Must hurry.

Found it again. Hold it. Hold it.

The phone falls to the ground. The hand drops to the side of the bed.

The fog envelopes everything.

Wins. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

James Bond was driving through the streets of London, enjoying the cool night air coming through the open window. Barcelona, then Madrid, then Sao Paulo, had been a difficult mission. Too much conflicting information, too many brunettes in thongs, too many martinis. But the target had been successfully neutralized and Britain was once again safe to sleep another night, as was Bond. With a lovely brunette he was about to pick up for a late, very late, rendezvous. He was almost annoyed when his phone chirped.

“Bond,” Villiers voice came over the Jaguar’s hands-free speakers.

“Yes,” Bond responded. He didn’t like Villiers, thought he was squeaky and unreliable. M apparently thought so, too, as she had permanently moved him to nights after several years of working by her side in the daytime hours. He was now her graveyard shift chief of staff, where he had very little interaction with her, with intelligence, and even less interaction with live human beings.

“Bond, Code 6, Blue,” was all he said before hanging up.

He didn’t have to say anything else. MI6 had a sophisticated warning system if any of the senior personnel, including M, were in trouble. Based on a number and color system, it was a simple and effective way to quickly respond to crisis. 

The ‘6’ was for M, 'blue' was for her home. With that information, Bond did a quick U-turn, floored the gas pedal on the Jaguar, and sped off toward her Kensington flat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mills, another agent, arrived just as Bond pulled up and together they sprinted up the stairs to M’s flat, weapons drawn, nerves on high alert. The house was dark, too dark, only the porch light was on. Bond tried the door: locked. 

“Villiers,” Bond said into his earwig. “The door is locked.”

Bond and Mills both heard the door unlock as the alarm system override was issued from M’s office. The override could only be used from MI6 if the right emergency code was used.

“I’m here, Bond,” came Tanner’s voice over the communications link. Bond was relieved. He knew M’s daytime chief of staff to be stable and proficient in his job. He also knew Villiers wasn’t as incompetent as he thought…M wouldn’t keep him around if he were. Bond just didn’t like the man.

The foyer was lightly illuminated from the porch light coming in the open front door, as was the hallway leading to the living and dining rooms on the left and the kitchen to the back of the house. Mills passed Bond, indicating he would take the ground floor. Bond proceeded up the stairs, leading with his torch and his weapon drawn. 

He stopped at the top of the stairs to listen. Nothing. No sound whatsoever except the faint sound of the heater blowing air from the floor vents. From what he could see, nothing was out of place. No sign of a struggle.

Bond went into the first room at the top of the landing and saw her on the bed, face down in purple pajamas, half off the bed, her fingers almost touching the floor, her mobile just out of reach. 

He did a quick visual sweep of the room, looking for movement and saw nothing. A faint flow of a nightlight flickered from the bathroom. 

Bond placed a hand on her neck. It was warm and he could feel a pulse. Thready and uneven, but there.

“Tanner, she’s here, but unconscious,” he said. Bond quickly opened her eyelids and saw her pupils were heavily dilated. Her breaths were shallow and raspy, she was not asleep.

“She needs medical, she’s been drugged or poisoned,” Bond said.

“Medical is on the way.” 

He wrapped his arms around her, turned her onto her back and slid her off the bed onto the floor, where she landed with a soft thump. He half expected her to open her eyes and say something sarcastic about him touching her or throwing her onto the floor. He really wanted her to.

She remained unconscious and unmoving.

Then Bond noticed that M wasn’t alone in the bed. In the shadows cast by his flashlight he could see a body, a man, lying next to her. The man was fully dressed in a tuxedo.

Bond went back to the wall and hit the overhead light.

“Mills..? You got anything?” Bond yelled out the bedroom door. Mills was already halfway up the stairs.

“No, nothing downstairs. M okay?”

“I don’t know. She’s alive, but she’s not alone.”

“What?” came Tanner’s voice in his ear.

“Tanner, M have any suitors?” Bond asked, back in the room and walking to the other side of the bed while Mills continued to check out the rest of the house.

“Not something she would discuss with me.”

Bond grinned at Tanner’s frustrated voice. He was teasing the chief of staff, knowing that M wouldn’t say a word to him about her personal life.

Bond moved closer to the man in M’s bed. Whoever he was, he was dead. His skin was already turning white and he didn’t have to touch the man to know that he was cold. 

“Bond, who is the man? Do you recognize him?” Tanner asked.

Bond snapped a picture with his mobile and sent it to the headquarters for identification.

“I don’t recognize him. He’s dead. Double-tapped. No blood. He wasn’t shot here although I think he might have died here.”

Bond looked back at M, wondering what the connection was. He walked back around to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, thinking he could shake her awake.

“M!” Bond said.

Nothing. Not a flicker or any type of movement. She was out.

Mills was in the hallway when Bond received the text that medical had arrived. Mills went down to let them in.

In a flash the room was filled with medics looking after M and other personnel investigating the room. The medics immediately took vital signs and drew a vial of blood. 

The forensics team was gathering evidence: fingerprints, cloth fibers, anything that would help them solve the mystery.

Bond took a moment to look around, trying to determine if there had been a struggle or if anything was broken or amiss. 

“She’s okay, I think, but we should move her into the other room,” said the chief medic. He was putting some blood drops into a small, portable machine to determine what drugs or poison was in her system.

“There’s a guest room just across the hall,” said Mills. 

Bond put his arms under M’s head and shoulders while Mills and the medic grabbed her legs. Her skin was warm and dry to the touch. She didn’t move or make any sound as they moved her. Bond was momentarily unbalanced by this intimacy with his boss. Only once in their years working together had he touched her beyond shaking her hand and now he could feel the curves of her shoulder blades against his stomach, the weight of her breasts on his forearms. 

Slowly they carried her into the guest room, laying her carefully on the edge of the bed. The medic started looking over her body, trying to determine if she was injured. 

Bond went back into M’s room to look around some more. He looked in the bathroom but saw nothing out of place. It was immaculately clean, as Bond figured it would be. He wondered how much time M actually spent in her house, much less her bathroom. Very few people knew of the secret door in the wall of her office that led to a private chamber with a small bedroom and bath. He knew that she kept clothing and toiletries there and that more often than not after a late night working she would notify the night guards she was staying and just sleep there.

He returned to the bedroom and was about to go back to M when he saw the disturbed dust pattern on the nightstand. Almost indiscernible but noticeable with a closer look…something was missing from her nightstand. Long, thin, about 4 inches long, with another inch long pattern a few inches behind.

A picture frame.

While Bond had been in M’s house before, he had only been downstairs, so he didn’t know what photograph had been there. But he knew enough about human behavior to guess that it was a photograph of her late husband. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fog was lifting, ever so slowly, but still overwhelming everything. Minutes passed. Or was it hours? She couldn’t tell. She was swimming toward the top, toward the light, toward the sound. Someone was touching her, looking for something. What? For a moment she was afraid and didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know if she should move toward the light and sound and touch and get prepared for a fight, or fall back into the fog that was still hovering in the background, offering her sanctuary and a place to hide. 

Then she recognized a voice and chose to swim toward the light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Her vital signs are good. I don’t have a reading yet on what she was poisoned or drugged with,” said the medic as Bond walked into the room.

“Did you find any cuts or bruises? Or an injection site?” asked Bond.

“No, nothing. Could have been something put in her food or drink, I’ll have the forensics team check the kitchen.”

Bond was about to walk back out into the hallway when the medic’s voice stopped him.

“Mr. Bond, she’s waking up.”

She was starting to stir, moving her hands and arms but not able to open her eyes. She seemed to be struggling as if she were under water and fighting to get to the surface. 

“What the..?” she said although it sounded more like gibberish than English. Her mouth and brain weren’t working correctly.

“M, you’ve been compromised, I need you to be quiet,” said Bond, kneeling down next to her and placing his hand on her forehead. The last thing he needed was the head of MI6, in a heavily drugged stupor, to start babbling secrets. Even though everyone in the room had high security clearances there were secrets that still needed to be guarded.

After 10 minutes she was more coherent and able to sit up with a little help. Bond sat next to her on the bed and she leaned slightly into his body. Bond fought the urge to get up as once again he was touching her more than he thought was right. But she didn’t seem to mind him being so close to her.

“Who is that man in my bed?”

“I don’t know, I was hoping you could tell me. I sent a photo to Tanner.”

“I didn’t see his face…I didn’t see…”

Bond could see she was struggling to remember but knew it was important that her memories were facts to be used in solving this mystery; in her current state she was susceptible to false memories.

Bond showed her the photograph on his mobile of the man. She studied it for almost a full minute before shaking her head.

“I have no idea.”

A loud beep filled the room as the medic pulled the results of the blood test from the computer. 

“Ma’am, it’s a cocktail of tranquilizers and sedatives, balanced just right to knock you out. A higher dose would have killed you. Someone knew what they were doing.”

M looked at Bond.

“What do you remember?” he asked.

“Not much. Realizing that something was wrong, knowing I had to get to my mobile, struggling to hit the panic code before I passed out. I barely remember seeing the man lying next to me in my bed.”

“Did you hear a sound? Remember a voice or a smell? Maybe cologne?”

“No, nothing. How did they drug me?”

“I don’t know. The medic didn’t find any injection site. Did your dinner taste funny? Anything you drank?”

The medic interrupted their conversation.

“All due respect, ma’am, I didn’t look underneath your pajamas. Dr. Shannon is on her way, she’ll do a complete once over and see if there was an injection. Forensics is also down in your kitchen to see if it came from food or beverage.”

“Thanks.” 

“Get some rest, M. We’ll handle this,” Bond said, touching her shoulder.

“I want to argue with you, but I don’t think I could get out of this bed if I wanted to.”

With that, she rolled over and closed her eyes. Bond watched her for a moment before turning and going back into the bedroom. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tanner, how is she?” Bond asked as he approached Tanner’s desk the next morning. The man was in a frenzy, trying to look at a file in his hand and a file on the computer at the same time. The whole building seemed to be in a state of anxiety, the result, no doubt, of the attack on their chief the previous night. 

“Ask her yourself,” he said, waving his hand toward her office.

Bond looked into her office and was surprised to see M in there, behind the desk, looking at her laptop.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, walking into her office. “You need to be resting. You still have drugs in your system.”

“A dead man was found in my bed last night, Bond. Hardly the time to be lazing about the house,” she said, not even looking up from the screen. 

Bond moved closer to her. 

“M…”

“Shove it, Bond. I need to find out what happened. Either help or get out of the way.”

He flinched at the harshness in her words. They were cold, crisp, edged in ice. 

Bond moved on with what he had to report.

“I’ve looked at the forensics, trying to figure out how they got into your house. Somehow they jammed your alarm system, tricked it into thinking that whatever code they entered was the right one.”

“Something you recognize?”

“No, I don’t. It’s a fairly new and sophisticated technology. Will no doubt impact security systems and make us rethink how to make them tamper-proof.”

M was still looking at the file on her computer. Bond saw a few of the words and saw it was her medical report.

“The combination of drugs was perfect for my height and weight. As the medic said, one small adjustment in dosage and it would have been fatal. The injection site was here,” she said, touching her waist on her right side. 

“There was also a slight trace of drugs in my tea cup. They got into my house and put enough in my tea to make me want to go to sleep. Then gave me the injection. Very choreographed and thought out. I’m apt to believe it’s someone I know.”

“Who knows your schedule?”

M snorted.

“You’d think I’d have some privacy, but no, every move I make is noted by my driver or bodyguard. The time they pick me up, the time they drop me off, the time I request to be picked up in the morning. Everything is logged into the secure system.”

“You’re not one to set a pattern, M.”

“No, I’m not…I know better.” 

She looked up at him, softening her gaze.

“Bond, there were people in my house, in my bedroom, while I was unconscious, unable to fight back,” she said.

“I can’t tell you how much that unnerves me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Bond had to lean in closer to hear her. He suspected he wasn’t supposed to hear that second sentence, that she was only admitting that fact to herself and no one else. 

“I can imagine…I know how people react when they find out I’ve been spying on them,” Bond said, not trying to be funny but somehow his words came out that way. M smiled. 

“It’s my job to spy on people, not be spied on,” she said, reaching for a file folder on her desk. She opened it up, removed a document from inside and handed it to him.

“The only thing missing from your house was the photograph of your husband that was on your nightstand?”

“Yes, that’s all. Nothing else was amiss.”

Tanner poked his head into her office.

“Ma’am, the man has been identified.”

Both M and Bond stood up, eager to know.

“Frederick Hammond.”

 

To be continued...


	2. New Year's Eve - Three Years Earlier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a beautiful evening, filled with champagne and cheer. Bond had even sneaked a kiss from his boss, right in front of her husband. But the new year had begun in a shambles.

James Bond is walking into the party with a woman so beautiful it hurt to look at her. Graceful, dark hair, tall. Wearing a red dress that left nothing to the imagination about the shape of her body.

He had met Elayna two months before, just after returning from Kazan, Russia, and wrapping up some unfinished business about an Algerian terrorist. The memory of Vesper Lynd was fading quickly…her touch, her voice, her ultimate betrayal to him, the service, and England. She would always be in his thoughts but he had long moved on to other women.

Elayna had talked him into attending the New Year’s Eve gala with her, despite his protests that he’d rather just stay home and watch the year pass on the television. Or in the bed, her choice. She had jokingly said she chooses both the gala and the bed.

The event was black-tie and he had chosen a traditional tuxedo, nothing fancy or that stood out. One thing James Bond was good at was blending into the scenery, making sure that he didn’t draw any undue attention when he didn’t want it. Of course, his date was drawing all sorts of attention as they made their way around the room, making his attempt to blend in useless. 

As they made their way to their assigned table, Elayna approached a man. She introduced Bond to her former boss, Dr. Emmett Whitstone. As Bond shook his hand he thought he knew the man, saw something familiar about him but couldn’t place what it was. For a moment he was concerned that he had something to do with h is work, maybe a target or an informant. He was the same height as Bond but much older, with gray hair. Tonight he was wearing a tuxedo with a blue plaid cummerbund and matching bow tie. He was a distinguished man who could still turn a few heads. 

Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar flash of white hair and uneven gait approach from his left.

“Elayna, you remember my wife, Olivia?” 

Now Bond remembered where he had seen the man before: in a picture frame on M’s mantle. It was their wedding photograph, him in a classic morning suit, her in a white dress with a happy and content smile on her face. There had been many other photographs of him, sometimes with his family, sometimes not, documenting his life with Olivia Mansfield, but the wedding picture had been the one to stick in Bond’s mind.

M extended her hand out first to Elayna.

“Nice to see you again, my dear,” she said. Then she turned to Bond and extended her hand.

“Bond, James Bond,” he said, looking into the familiar blue eyes, right now mix of exasperation and playfulness. It was, after all, New Year’s Eve.

“Olivia.” No last name, even though he knew her real name.

Bond reached for her hand but instead of shaking it he brought it to his lips and gave her knuckles a quick kiss.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

Her gaze never betrayed their knowledge of each other. She never missed a beat as she smiled at his gallantry. Bond wondered how much he could learn about being a great spy from her, how to become an alias, absorb an entire personality yet never stumble when coming unexpectedly face-to-face with someone she knew but wasn’t supposed to know. 

She was elegantly dressed in a blue gown woven with silver thread. Bond thought she looked amazing and very different from the professionally-dressed woman he saw in the office who almost always wore black, white or varying shades of gray. She looked relaxed, and happy. 

For M. 

The two couples exchanged a few trivialities before going their separate ways off into the crowd. Bond threw glances at her every now and then and watched as the two of them talked, danced, and mingled with other party guests. They were always side-by-side, often holding hands, standing very close to one another. Bond studied her face and body language closely to see if there was a hint of façade, something that said their behavior was all an act and that there was no real happiness in the Mansfield/Whitstone marriage.

Bond saw none of that. 

He saw love, happiness, and the kind of comfortable easiness that he believed could only come from a marriage of so many years. Something he was sure at this point in his life he would never experience.

“I’m not going to lose you to her, am I?” 

Elayna was standing next to him, following his gaze to the dance floor where M was dancing with her husband. 

“No. She just reminded me of someone I know. The resemblance is uncanny. I was wondering if they were related,” he said, leaning in to kiss her and distract her from catching him staring at M. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later Bond found himself alone with her at the champagne fountain.

“Sorry, M, I didn’t know you were here,” he said, reaching for a glass.

“It’s alright, Bond. I’m not concerned. Despite what people say, I am capable of holiday cheer.” 

She took the glass he offered her and drank the liquid in a gulp. Bond suspected this wasn’t her first glass and probably wouldn’t be her last. She had a driver and more than likely a bodyguard somewhere in the crowd. She didn’t need to concern herself with how much she or her husband drank.

“Your date is beautiful,” she said, placing the empty glass on the table. 

“Thank you. So are you, M. You look lovely,” he said back. She smiled at him and even though her eyes never moved, Bond could tell she was rolling them in exasperation at his remark.

Her husband approached, emerging from the crowd.

“Peach, I’m going to step out in the hall to take a phone call. I trust you’re in good hands with Mr. Bond?”

“Yes, I’ll be safe with him,” she said, just a tiny hint of sarcasm in her voice. Bond wondered if Whitstone picked up on that. After so many years of marriage, he probably did.

“Peach?” Bond snickered at her as Whitstone walked away.

“Watch it, Bond, my holiday cheer only goes so far,” she said, stepping away from him. Before he could respond she was lost in the crowd. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The midnight countdown was near and the party guests were standing on the dance floor in front of the large screen showing fireworks in downtown London, celebrating the passing of the year.

“10…9…8...”

Bond and Elayna moved closer to M and her husband. He wasn’t sure why it was so important for him to be near her at the stroke of midnight. The tradition was to share a kiss at midnight, something Bond knew he could never do with M. Or perhaps, because of the holiday, he could.

“7…6…5…”

Bond was standing next to her now and enjoyed the juxtaposition of the younger, beautiful woman he intended to both kiss and bed and the older, beautiful woman he also intended to kiss but who would probably cut him in half with an icy glare if he did. 

“4…3…2…”

Bond moved closer to Elayna.

“1!”

He leaned over and gave Elayna a long, slow, deep kiss. But out of the corner of his eye he was watching his boss, intrigued by how she would ring in the New Year.

He was them face each other, holding hands and quietly whispering to each other. It seemed as if they were savoring the moment, the passing of another year. They were oblivious to everything going on around them, the cheers, the music, and the fireworks.

Finally Whitstone raised his hand and softly touched the side of his wife’s face, then leaned in and kissed her, gently, first on the tip of her nose, then brushing lightly against her lips before pulling away and touching her face again. While they were surrounded by couples engaged in long, deep kisses, this couple had barely even touched lips. And yet, somehow Bond knew that that ‘almost kiss’ had more passion and love than all those other kisses combined. Not to mention anything he had ever experienced or would ever experience.

He was a bit jealous. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they were leaving the party, Bond and Elayna ran into M and her husband as they waited for her driver to appear with the car. M extended her hand to Elayna and wished her a happy new year.

Then she focused her blue eyes on Bond, almost as if she were challenging him to be a naughty boy. Bond decided to take her up on that challenge.

He leaned in and kissed her on the lips, lingering just a bit longer than he should have. He could smell her cologne and feel the warm dryness of her skin. He noticed that she didn’t pull away from him. 

“Happy New Year, Olivia,” he whispered. 

“And to you, Mr. Bond,” she responded. Bond looked again in her eyes and saw laughter. She was actually smiling at him. 

This meant he would have hell to pay the next time she saw him.

Had kissing her been worth whatever punishment she was going to dream up? 

Oh, yes.

He turned to Whitstone and extended his hand.

“Good night, Mr. Bond. Thank you for a most memorable evening,” he said, shaking Bond’s hand. 

Bond cocked his head at the strange comment then saw the laughter in Whitstone’s eyes.

Her husband knew who he was, had picked up on her earlier sarcasm, had enjoyed watching his wife, the head of MI6, deal with the childishness of one of her agents. Bond wanted to ask what had given him away, but her black Jaguar pulled up at that moment and before any more words could be exchanged, they were gone. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M was enjoying the quiet of the car after the noise of the party. She enjoyed social events to a certain extent and when she accepted the invitation to tonight’s party she knew it would be a long night. But tomorrow was a holiday and her and Emmett had nothing planned but…

The first impact jarred her body, the noise reverberating through her head. The second impact slammed her head into the side of the car. Or did the car slam into the side of her head? She wasn’t quite sure. 

Then there was silence, nothing. M was having a hard time focusing and pain was shooting through her head and left foot. In front of her she could see her driver, Jason, more than likely dead. Nobody could survive that type of impact and the loss of that much blood. She heard nothing to her left, not even breathing. She was too afraid to turn her head, too afraid of what she might see. She reached for his hand, found it, and held it in hers. It was warm, limp, and heavy. 

Her heart was lurching. Emotional darkness was enveloping her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bond’s phone chirped about 10 minutes after M left.

“Bond,” Bill Tanner’s voice was in a slight panic. “Got an emergency beacon on M’s car, about 2 blocks from your location. I’m not getting a response from her or her driver.”

“Which way?”

“Two blocks to the east, then up about two blocks,” said Tanner.

Bond sprinted away from the building and through the crowd waiting for the valets to bring them their cars. He didn’t even bother to say anything to Elayna, just left her standing on the steps.

Bond remembered that M’s car was wired to send an emergency signal to headquarters if there were an impact of any kind, the thought making him run even faster. 

Bond rounded a corner and saw the black Jaguar, crumpled between a large lorry and a lamppost. Already a few New Year’s revelers were gathering around the vehicle. In the distance Bond could hear the sound of approaching sirens.

“Get away from there!” he yelled. Bond was tempted to pull out his weapon to scare them away but they seemed to move as he approached.

As he reached the Jag he quickly scanned the scene, trying to figure out what to do first.

She was sitting in the passenger’s side of the back seat with blood dripping down the side of her face. She was dazed, but conscious. She looked at him, her eyes focusing for a few seconds on his before drifting off into nothingness. 

Her husband was to her left and mangled so badly that Bond barely recognized him as the man he had only just bid a good night and a happy new year.

In the front seat her driver was also dead and mangled, both having a direct frontal hit from the lorry. 

“M, where is your mobile?” Bond whispered, touching her head, trying to get her to focus. He needed to find that phone before someone else did.

“In my handbag.”

He reached across her and found the handbag next to her on the seat. He searched inside and found her mobile and slipped it into his pocket. He then crawled into the front seat and searched through Jason’s pockets until he found his mobile. It was an unpleasant task; the mobile was soaked in blood. Bond pulled off his coat and draped it over the man’s body.

He returned to M in the back seat. He took her head in his hands, trying to figure out how badly injured she was. He was also trying to keep her from turning her head and looking to her left. 

She didn’t need that, didn’t need the last image of her husband to be what Bond had seen.

“Double-O Seven...”

“Shhhh, M, don’t try to talk.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes. They both are.”

It was then that he noticed a tear on her cheek. 

“There’s a blanket in the boot. If you can get to it, please cover him.”

Bond went to the back of the damaged car. The boot was open. He found two blankets, grabbed them and returned to the car. He put one blanket over her husband’s body as best he could and wrapped the other around her, trying to conceal her face from the growing crowd. 

The sirens were getting louder.

“My foot…”

Bond looked down and realized that the front seat had been shoved backwards and her foot was crumpled underneath, twisted at an impossible angle.

“Medics are on their way, M, hang in there,” he said, taking her hand. With his other hand he reached inside his jacket pocket of his tuxedo and pulled out his handkerchief to wipe the blood off of the side of her face. There was a nasty gash at her hairline, just above her right eye. She must have been hurled into the side of the vehicle upon impact. 

The medics were suddenly at his side. 

Bond pulled out his own mobile and called Tanner.

“Tanner, it’s bad. Her husband and driver are dead. She’s alive but injured. Medics are with her now.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw something familiar, something red. Elayna. She had followed him to the accident site and was standing on the corner with the crowd, eyeing him curiously. Then he followed her eye line as she looked into the car, first at M, then the blanket-draped form sitting next to her. He could tell the exact moment when she realized that her former boss was underneath that blanket and that he was dead. 

He focused his attention back to the conversation with Tanner. Bond just didn’t have time for her right now.

“Bond, I’ve dispatched several agents to the sight. You know the protocols,” he said before hanging up. Bond understood that M’s chief of staff had many phone calls to make, including one to the Prime Minister.

The protocols involving the MI6 Chief were fairly standard. Since she was compromised with possible head injuries, an agent had to be within earshot of her at all times to make sure she didn’t start spilling state secrets. This would be the same protocol once she was at hospital and under anesthesia if required, or painkillers. There would be no privacy for her until her head was completely clear and she had no drugs in her system, not even in the shower or the loo. 

The fire brigade and police arrived and started working the scene, shooing the crowd back and trying to question Bond about what happened. 

He quickly pulled out his generic government identification card and quietly informed the policeman that there were protocols to follow here, that he would accompany the woman at all times, and that other agents were on their way to stay with the car and the other two occupants.  
The police officer nodded acknowledgement and backed away but not without looking first at the car, then M, to see who required so much attention.

Within 20 minutes M was being loaded into the ambulance, on her way to London Hospital where her MI6 doctor was already waiting for her with a select staff of nurses. It hadn’t taken much to free her ankle from underneath the seat although it had hurt Bond to hear her cry out in pain.

Two MI6 forensic agents had arrived and were starting to go over both vehicles and gather evidence. The police weren’t happy about this, but the flash of badges and a quick phone call to their headquarters made them back away. Other agents arrived with the sole responsibility of staying with the bodies of the driver and M’s husband. 

As Bond climbed into the ambulance and sat alongside M he looked at the carnage that had once been a beautiful Jaguar sedan. He looked at the lorry that had hit the car and only then realized that the driver, a young man, was dead. One of the MI6 agents was going through his wallet, trying to find identification.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M’s head wound needed 8 stitches and she had a slight concussion. She was covered in bruises and tiny cuts from the flying glass. Her ankle was twisted, but not broken. She would recover within a few days. 

Bond stayed by her side for 14 hours, until he finally relinquished duty to another MI6 agent who had arrived hours earlier and waited in the hallway for him to leave. But Bond had not been ready to leave her. 

He stayed with her as the MI6 medical staff cut away her beautiful gown and washed the glass and blood off of her body, and then redressed her in a hospital gown. He stood behind a curtain and told the nurses not to talk; protocol said he only needed to hear her, not see her. He hoped his presence was somehow comforting to her. 

He stayed with her after she was stabilized and lying quietly in her bed, awake but staring off into space. He stood as quiet and still in the corner as he could, watching her. He could feel the grief enter the room and overwhelm her, then him. 

He stayed with her after her daughter arrived and crawled into the bed and held her as she finally cried, the gasping sobs the only sound she had made since she had been freed from the car. Her son arrived shortly thereafter and the three of them held each other. Her other son was on his way but wouldn’t arrive until the next morning. 

He felt guilty standing in their space. 

“Does he have to be here?” the daughter, Charlotte, asked, waving her hand toward him.

“Yes, he does. Sorry, I have a head wound and painkillers. He has to be here to ensure I don’t say things I shouldn’t. Ignore him.”

Her words didn’t hurt Bond. He knew her life, knew that there was usually always someone within earshot of all but the most intensely personal moments of her life. Always a bodyguard or a driver nearby, following her, keeping eyes on her. She had long learned to ignore the presence of these sentries and after a few minutes Bond realized her children had also long ago learned the same trick. They moved and talked to each other as if he weren’t even there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

M’s absence reverberated through MI6 in shockwaves as sections scrambled to cover her meetings and obligations. Aside from her injuries, everyone knew that her husband had died, casting a gray pall over the entire building. Tanner seemed to suffer the most, not that he was friends with Emmett Whitstone, but because he knew M was suffering and that he could do nothing to comfort her. 

The funeral was held a week later, long enough for M to recover and hobble to the church and cemetery with just a cane, her ankle heavily wrapped. The stitches were still in her head but covered by her hair. 

Only a few agents were allowed to attend the funeral and only as M’s protectors. There were American CIA agents present as Director Ian Smithson, an old friend of M’s, was in attendance, offering his condolences and his support. They had both been station agents for their respective spy agencies in Hong Kong years before and had become fast friends. They managed to stay friends as they moved up through the ranks and finally to the head of the agencies that they served. 

There was a service at MI6 for the staff to convey their condolences. M attended with her three children and sat in silence as those who knew her or knew of her offered their condolences, their flowers, and their respect. 

Bond watched over the course of time as M’s pallor went from tan to gray, as a few pounds fell off of her stout body, and as she kept quiet, only talking to her family.

Bond’s life had turned upside down at the death of Vesper Lynd…when he lost her he felt grief he hadn’t experienced since the death of his parents years before. But what M was experiencing was deeper and more overwhelming than anything he had felt over Lynd. He had barely known Vesper, M had known her husband for longer than Bond has been alive. She wouldn’t move on to another man as he had moved on to Elayna.

For the next two weeks forensics and investigators went over every inch of both vehicles and reviewed statements from multiple witnesses, searching for anything linking the death of the husband of the SIS chief to her position. 

They found nothing. 

The lorry driver, Eugene Hammond, had no police or driving record and had not been under the influence of drugs or alcohol. He had left behind only one relative, a brother named Frederick, who quietly took his brother’s body away and then disappeared. M had refused to see him but asked her investigating agents to question him, to try and find something, anything linking the accident to her.

They also found nothing.

Eventually M closed the case, labeling it a New Year’s Eve tragedy, a man foolishly combining reckless driving and a large lorry. After a month she returned to work, spending even more hours at the office than she had when her husband was alive.

Bond suspected that that she knew her husband’s death was planned and not some random holiday tragedy, but she just couldn’t prove it. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present Day

M felt her whole life shift at the sound of Tanner speaking the man’s name. She felt cold, sorrowful. And she missed her husband more than ever before. 

The emotional darkness that had enveloped her at the moment of his death had never left her body. She had just managed to keep it at bay, teetering precariously on the edge of blackness, the love for her children, grandchildren, and great grandson acting as gravity that pulled her away from the center of it. 

At the sound of the man’s name she was able to move completely away from the darkness, her family no longer the reason not to give in to its lure. She had a mission now. 

“So, it’s true,” she said quietly.

Bond only looked at her.

“They killed my husband.”

Bond nodded in agreement.

And with that nod he had heartily accepted his new, unspoken mission: to find out who ‘they’ were. 

 

To be continued…


	3. A Photo is Just a Moment in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for the killers of M's husband continues, and Bond discovers a secret about his boss.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

The words were harsh, intended to show he was not to be ignored. His questions were to be answered. Now.

James Bond held the business end of his Walther PPK at the temple of the man known only as Sam. For a few seconds Bond was distracted by the vein pulsing at the man’s temple, no doubt caused by the extreme stress of having a gun pointed at his brain.

“I don’t know anything,” Sam squeaked.

Bond spent the better part of an hour roughing up the man, smacking him around and making him bleed. He knew that Sam didn’t know anything…he was a stooge, a distraction sent by the group he was after. But he wanted to send a strong message back to them: We are a force to be reckoned with and we will stop at nothing to finish what we started.

The search for the killers of M’s husband that New Year’s Eve three years ago had started slowly and grown into an overwhelming pile of nothing pointing nowhere. The discovery of Frederick Hammond’s body, shot in the head, in M’s bed had triggered the search but so far they had only come to dead ends.

They had started with the obvious: Quantum. The ring, led by Dominic Greene, had been broken up years before but there could always be unknown elements left, trying to exact revenge on MI6.

But M had ruled them out. What happened to her husband was personal. The defeat of Quantum was professional. Quantum had already once tried to kill her using her own bodyguard, but a thin sliver of metal, a simple IV pole, had deflected the bullet meant for her heart. Nothing seemed to point to Quantum.

But Bond had rounded up a few of the leftover Quantum members anyway; the ones who couldn’t be linked by evidence to the group but that he knew were involved. Sam was one of those guys and Bond enjoyed punching him and making him squeal. It made him feel better even if it didn’t help the case. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The fog in her head was returning, far quicker than she could react. For a half second she panicked, returning instantly to that night last week in her flat when her head had filled with fog.

Then her head snapped up and she realized she was sitting at her desk and was just experiencing a high level of fatigue from working so many late hours. 

She looked around and saw that all the daytime staff had already left, including Bill Tanner, her chief of staff. The night shift personnel were spread out here and there, working quietly at desks, ignoring her. Most of the major activity happened during the daytime shift, when most of the analysis and meetings and actual intelligence work were done. The night shift tended to spend their hours reviewing cases and sorting out the lurid details of missions gone wrong. Or right.

She finished reading Bond’s latest report from the attempt to get to Quantum. Nothing. Just like the previous three reports. And if Bond couldn’t find it, it wasn’t there. 

She sighed in exasperation and decided to go home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next day, Bond and M were sitting in her office, looking at her empty desk. It was a clear symbol of how much information they had regarding the death of her husband and how it was tied to the dead man found in her bed. 

Bond thought of the photograph that was taken from her nightstand. M had brought in a copy after she remembered that her son had scanned in several old family photographs years before. It took her a few days to find it on the hard drive of Emmett’s old computer. She was lucky she still had it…more than once she had been tempted to destroy that hard drive, and all of his belongings, with a drill she had in the basement. But she had always stopped herself before she could inflict any damage. 

It was a picture of her and Emmett, taken about 40 years ago, at Ascot Race Course, on Derby Day.

He asked her again for the photograph.

Bond looked closely at this one moment of M’s past. Neither of them was looking at the camera, nor were they looking at each other. He was holding his wife, on his lap from the looks of it, but looking off into the distance. She had her head thrown back in peals of laughter. Bond wondered why she was laughing. He wondered where Whitstone’s hands were. Would they have done something so…lurid…in such a public and dignified setting? 

He was tempted to ask her, but decided against it. He’d already had his head bitten off enough times without asking for more.

He looked more closely and saw they were in the middle of a crowd, most of them looking at the same point off camera. A race? The horses crossing the finish line? Something else?

“Who were you there with?”

She thought for a moment.

“A group of my husband’s colleagues. He was part of a mid-sized private practice at the time. Next to us were his closest friend, Dr. Adrian Mickels, and his wife, Sherry. We spent time with them on weekends and holidays…they were fun, we liked to do the same things, and we both had small children. I think I was pregnant at the time with my daughter.”

“And you are laughing so hard at..?”

“Adrian had just said something funny. I don’t remember what, but I do remember I laughed so hard that my ribs hurt.”

“M, since this was the only thing taken, I have a feeling that this has something to do with someone who was in that group that day.”

She snorted at his remark.

“Well, Double-Oh Seven, I really didn’t think that someone would kill my husband, then three years later break into my home, drug me, and put a dead man in my bed, all to take an expensive silver picture frame. Of course it’s about someone in that group. I just can’t believe it took so long for us to figure that out.”

He smiled at her words. She was right about the misdirection of Quantum and the other groups that they had looked into to solve this mystery. They had been so wrapped up in what they considered the obvious they had actually overlooked the obvious.

“What happened to Mickels?”

“He and Emmett had a bit of a falling out. About a year or two after this photo was taken Emmett left the practice and decided to join the staff at London Hospital. He found the quick pace and chance to learn new techniques more to his liking.”

She thought about her words for a moment. Mickels had been angry at Emmett, she remembered. He felt that Emmett had taken too many patients with him, which wasn’t true. Only a few patients had followed Emmett, 5 or 6, and they were the ones who were far too sick to have their care transferred to another doctor at that time. 

Mickels had even once threatened them both, in a roundabout way, over drinks at the local pub. Mickels hadn’t known he was threatening a high-ranking government intelligence official so M, then still Olivia Mansfield, didn’t give his words a second thought. He was angry, that was all. And a tad bit drunk. They had all been a tad bit drunk that night.

Mickels never seemed to recover from Emmett leaving the practice…within a few years he was bankrupt and facing corruption and morality charges. He lost his medical license and disappeared from their lives. She hadn’t given him two thoughts in more than 20 years, about the time they received his last Christmas card postmarked from America. It had been unsigned but they both knew who it was from.

“Bond, is it possible..?”

He didn’t let her finish her sentence. He was already standing up and moving to the extra computer at the desk in the corner of her office. 

“Write down everyone’s name that you can remember. I’m going to start a search on them.”

An hour later Bond had a list of the doctors, wives, and girlfriends that had been at Ascot that day, as well as everything about Mickels he could find. 

“Okay,” said M. “Mickels moved to America and stayed there until he died in 1997. He left behind his wife and three children, all of whom live in Philadelphia.”

“It’s time to call the CIA.” She picked up the phone and dialed a number. Within seconds it was answered on the other side.

“Ian, hello, how are you?” 

Ian Smithson, Director of the CIA and old friend of M’s from their days as station agents in Hong Kong for their respective spy services. Bond had last seen him at Emmett Whitstone’s funeral, although he knew that he and M visited one another a few times a year.

They chatted for a few minutes before M told him what had happened at her house and the resulting investigation. Bond could tell by her facial expressions that Smithson was unhappy to find out so late that someone had drugged her and put a dead man in her bed. She soothed him in only the way that M could, assuring him that she was okay and that her best agents were working the case, now that they knew for certain the New Year’s Eve crash had not been a random accident.

She finally hung up and said that Ian would meet them at Dulles Airport in 3 days. That would give him and his agents time to do some legwork on the Mickels family before they continued the journey to Philadelphia. 

Bond was going to America and, apparently, so was M. 

Bond knew just who to call for help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bond had Felix Leiter on the phone, making arrangements for him and M to meet up with the CIA personnel at the airport. He was sitting at his computer going over the hotel room arrangements. Just as Felix was about to hang up Bond caught a discrepancy.

“Felix…wait…hold on…”

On the other side of the pond Felix waited.

“There’s only one hotel room for M and Director Smithson.”

Felix snorted and then cleared his throat.

“First time as M’s personal security detail, huh, Bond?”

“Well, first time I’ve made prior arrangements for her security at destination. Why?”

“Because your boss and my boss have shared a hotel room when they meet for almost 2 years now. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

Bond was stunned into silence at Felix’s words. 

M? And Ian Smithson? In the same hotel room? 

Felix continued, obviously enjoying Bond’s unease at the conversation.

“You know they stay at each other’s houses when they visit each other, right?”

“Yes, I knew that, but…”

“They sleep in the same bed, Bond,” said Felix, hanging up, still laughing. 

Bond sat staring at the document on his computer screen, still trying to accept what he had just found out. M. And Director Smithson. Sleeping in the same bed. For years. How had he missed that? How had he not seen this? He had seen both of them together in the past two years, many times. They were always cool and professional toward one another. And he had not ever paid attention to M’s itinerary and lodging requirements because it was her staff’s job, and her personal security detail’s job, to keep track of her. 

He wasn’t quite sure why this snippet of information was making him angry. 

It just didn’t feel right and couldn’t figure out why.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bond knew what he was doing was wrong, knew that he was going to have hell to pay for what he was about to do, but he had something to say to her and had just enough alcohol in his system to not stop himself from going to MI6 in the middle of the night.

The agents at the desk confirmed that M was still in the building, even though it was almost 1 a.m. They offered to walk him up. He declined.

He left the elevator and walked through the dimly lit office area outside of M’s office. A few of the night shift analysts were hunched over their computers. Nobody paid him any attention.

He keyed in the code to her private chamber. With each press of a key he became angrier and it became harder to hit the right key. Twice he got the beep of an incorrect code and had to start over.

He found her asleep in the bed, wearing a red nightgown and surrounded by books and papers. There was just enough light in the room to make out her features. 

“M! Why didn’t you tell me?” He barked and turned on the lights.

She woke instantly and sat up, alert to possible danger. She looked up at the figure in her doorway. Once she realized who was waking her, the fury started to brew in her eyes. Bond could see the anger rise in her face. It almost matched the rage he was feeling. 

“I don’t know what you’re doing here, Bond, but get the fuck out now,” she hissed.

“Why didn’t you tell me about you and Director Smithson?” he asked again.

At this she jumped out of the bed and walked to him, wearing only the nightgown. He could see entirely too much of her body but she didn’t seem to care.

“Not any of your business, Bond, not outside of providing security. I said get out.”

“Yes, it is my business and I didn’t deserve to find out from Felix Leiter this way, looking like a bloody fool in front of him.”

She moved a step closer to him.

“Okay, here you go. Ian Smithson and I are lovers. There, are you happy?” she said.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

She moved a step closer to him.

“What else do you want to know, Bond? You want more details? Do you want to know the things he does to me that make me giggle like a schoolgirl? Is that what you want to know?” 

He turned his head away from her. She was too close, wearing too much red. And she was mocking him, mocking his anger and frustration. Damn her.

“I don’t want to know that stuff and bloody hell, M, put on your bathrobe.”

“Bond, you came into MY space and interrupted MY sleep. You don’t want to see me like this then leave.”

She moved a step closer to him.

She was now close enough to him that he could clearly see the rapid rise and fall of her chest. She was angry, angrier than he had ever seen her before. He was starting to get a concerned about his decision to come here and confront her about her relationship with Smithson. 

But the alcohol in his system wouldn’t let him shut his mouth and leave.

“The director of the CIA? How could you do this? Your husband hasn’t even been dead…”

The blow hit him from his right, low and hard, the intensity knocking him momentarily off balance. For an instant he wondered who else was in the room to have struck him with such strength. He heaved to his left, leaning over so far that he eventually decided to just let his body fall. As his head came to rest on the cold tile floor, James Bond, Double-Oh Seven, realized two things.

One, he had finally crossed the line with M. He had been pressing her buttons for years, knowing just how far to go to piss her off before backing off and staying alive. Shooting up an embassy, breaking into her home, antagonizing the CIA. Everything that came right to the line and made her angry, but now he had crossed into territory nobody wanted to be in when it came to her. 

And he was truly afraid of her. He was afraid of her strength, her power. As a Double-Oh, he was a highly-trained operative, able to kill indiscriminately, in a variety of nasty and disgusting ways. Then walk away cold and unfeeling about what he had just done.

But right now he was afraid of a 73-year-old woman, standing just over 5 feet tall in her bare feet, and wearing nothing but a red nightgown. He had underestimated her physical ability, believing all this time that she could never fight back. He should have known that with all her years in intelligence she could defend herself if necessary.

And he also knew that she could destroy him, if not tonight, then whenever she wanted. Whenever the whim of wiping him off the face of the earth suited her. He would never see it coming, and no one would ever find his body. 

“How. Dare. You.” She was so angry she couldn’t speak without taking a deep breath in between her words. 

He looked at the small feet standing just in front of him, looked up at her face. She was staring at the wall behind him, so furious that he was concerned that she was going to stop breathing. Her arms were straight out from her sides, her fists in tight balls. He could see red marks on the knuckles of her left hand. 

He was too afraid to move so he just closed his eyes and waited for her to shoot him, or rip his balls off, or whatever torture she was going to come up with.

Instead, he heard her turn and walk back to the bed. He heard her sit down and stretch out. The next sound was soft and muffled and could only be her pulling the sheet and quilt up over her body. Then he heard nothing. He fell asleep.

He awoke a few hours later, before the sun had begun to rise. His jaw hurt where she had hit him. When he lifted his head he saw a smear of blood on the floor.

He stood up and looked down at her, sleeping soundly. She was on her side, curled up in a tight ball in the corner of bed, almost as if she were hiding from something. 

He turned and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bond waited until late the next afternoon before he called Bill Tanner to report in and query after her, after the investigation. Tanner was brusque, even rude to him when he answered the phone. He didn’t waste any time with triviality.

“Bond, what the bloody hell did you say to her?” 

“How do you know it was me?”

“It’s always you, Bond. Always. And for once I wish you’d remember that there are many here who can’t just disappear the way that you can after you’ve pissed her off. I wish for once you’d think about those of us who have to spend hours every day with her.”

And with that, Tanner hung up. Not even asking what he needed or what he was calling for. Bond couldn’t blame him. No doubt M had been on a rampage all day, taking her anger at him out on her staff. 

He needed to fix this. 

 

~To be continued~


	4. All It Took Was a Simple 'I Love You'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All of the pieces regarding the death of M's husband finally fall into place, but not before Bond and M clash over her relationship with CIA Director Ian Smithson. 
> 
> Please note: some mature content at the end!

The next morning M was at her desk, trying to focus on the data streaming across her computer. Even 24 hours later she was still furious at Bond for his implication that she hadn’t loved her husband, hadn’t waited long enough before becoming involved with Ian. Emmett had been dead for over 3 years. She and Ian had become lovers just over a year later. It was a comfortable relationship, based on mutual respect and admiration as well as a bit of easy sex that never really satisfied her but left her content and happy. 

The decision to take the friendship with Ian to the next level had been difficult. Emmett was the only man she had ever taken into her bed and, at her age, she wasn’t looking for a replacement. Ian had pursued her, covertly at first, then blatantly telling her that he wanted to be more than friends, that he cared deeply for her. 

She had rebuffed him at first, but once she knew in her heart she could never replace her dead husband, and that Ian wasn’t asking for that, it was easier to invite him in. They only saw each other every few months and she wasn’t even sure if she was the only woman he was sleeping with. It wouldn’t bother her if there were others; she only hoped he was being careful. 

But other lovers were the least of their problems. Their paths crossed professionally almost every day, even if they didn’t speak directly to one another for weeks at the time. Their agents worked together on missions and both services shared massive amounts of information; there was communication between their two agencies on an almost hourly basis. 

Not to mention that more than once the CIA had issued a ‘Capture or Kill’ order on one of her agents, an order that could only come from the director. And she had done the same for CIA agents she felt needed to be stopped. They both had their secrets, they both had their responsibilities. 

They vowed early in their relationship to leave their work outside the bedroom door, a promise that was difficult to keep. And Bond had come between them more than once. 

She sensed his presence before she saw him out of the corner of her eye, standing in her doorway, a petulant child come to beg for forgiveness. Just seeing him got her blood boiling again. She ignored him. 

“M, please let me say I’m sorry.” 

He took a few steps into her office. She didn’t say anything to him, just kept staring at her computer screen even though she had long lost interest in the information.

“I’m sorry, M. I was out of line. Way out of line.”

She finally looked up at him but her eyes were ice cold, sending a chill through Bond’s body. 

“What is your problem, Bond? Why is it so difficult for you to accept me having a relationship with Smithson?”

He still didn’t know the answer to that question, no matter how many times he had asked it in his mind. Earlier that morning he had even written down the words ‘why does this bother you?’ on a small slip of paper and left it on his kitchen counter. But the answer still had not come to him. 

“I don’t know. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, I guess. I’ve seen you in pain too many times lately and I just…”

“I’m a big girl Double-Oh Seven; I can take care of myself. And Ian isn’t just any man. I’ve known him for years. He’s a good man and I adore him. And you know him.”

“Yes, I do.”

Neither of them brought up the ‘Capture or Kill’ order that Ian had issued for Bond while he was tracking down Quantum in Bolivia. Bond wondered if Smithson had ever apologized to her for that, for issuing the order even though it had been one of his own agents who created the problems and was the one who needed to be stopped. 

Perhaps that was the problem Bond had with this relationship. Not the control the man might have over her, but the control the man did have over him.

He was standing at her desk now, just in front of her. She looked up at him and noted the small mark on his right jaw. He noticed the red marks on her left knuckles. He wondered if anyone had seen both of their marks and figured out what had happened. 

“The insinuation that I didn’t love my husband was out of line, Bond. I loved him. I never cheated on him. I gave him three children. He was the center of my universe and how dare you stand in front of me, drunk, and tell me that I was doing something wrong.”

By the time she had finished her sentence she had left her chair and moved around to Bond and was standing in front of him. He almost stepped backwards, afraid she would strike him again. But he didn’t move.

“I’m sorry, M. I know you loved your husband. I saw you on New Year’s Eve at midnight, the way he touched you. The way he kissed you. I was jealous.”

She looked up quickly at his words, misunderstanding his meaning.

“What?” she snarled. “Do you want to fuck me, James? Is that it? You want me all to yourself?”

He flinched at her words, so cruel and callous, inflicting pain on both of them. And she never called him James. Ever. Another line had been crossed but this time he hadn’t even been aware of it. She was taking his words the wrong way. 

“No, M, no, that’s not what I meant.” He was suddenly a bit angry at her for saying that.

“Stop twisting my words. And it’s beneath you to speak with such vulgarity.” 

She didn’t say anything, just crossed her arms over her chest.

“I was jealous because you had a love I know I will never experience. A type of life that I will never be a part of. Ever.”

“That’s because women mean nothing to you, Bond. You think they do, but in the end, they mean nothing.”

She turned and went to sit back down at her desk. He didn’t move. He could sense she still had something to say. 

And she did.

“I wake up every morning, Double-Oh Seven, and my first coherent thought is guilt over the death of my husband. I’m almost positive it was my job, my position here at MI6 that got him killed. Some bastard from my past, someone I’ve crossed, someone I’ve given up, someone I’ve put away. I always knew that eventually my past would catch up to me. I just didn’t think it would take vengeance for my actions against my family.”

She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry, M. That’s quite a burden to carry. I never meant to upset you or make you angry. You’re right, women mean nothing to me. Except you. You mean something to me.”

She opened her eyes.

“Well, that has to stop, Bond. I can’t mean anything to you, outside of MI6 and keeping Britain safe. You can’t be responsible for me. You can’t be concerned about me because once you are, one of us is going to die.” 

“I’m not sure I can stop, M. I’m too entrenched in this mission, in MI6. And that means you. You are MI6, the two of you are inseparable. To me, anyway. And I can’t stand to see you in pain.”

She hesitated before speaking her next words.

“Well, now you know how I feel.”

“Come again?” he asked, not understanding what she was saying.

“Now you know how I feel. When my agents come back to me wounded, broken, sometimes unrepairable. I remember getting you back from Le Chiffre, how beaten down you were, almost dead. It hurt me to see you like that.”

He pondered her words for a moment and then realized what she was saying.

“Wait…you were there? At the hospital?”

“Of course I was there, Bond. For three days I sat next to your bed while you were unconscious. I read you poetry and played classical music.”

“I hate poetry and classical music.”

“Exactly. I kept waiting for you to wake up and tell me to stop that bloody nonsense.”

“I didn’t know that.” He wondered what she had threatened the hospital staff with in order to keep their silence. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything. Drop it.”

He wasn’t so willing to do that.

“Why did you leave? Why didn’t you wait until I was awake?”

“Because Ms. Lynd recovered from her injuries and came to your room.” 

She looked up at him, a bit of sadness in her eyes.

“Not enough room in your life for two women, Bond.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bond saw Leiter almost instantly as he and M came off the plane. They shook hands and greeted one another.

M took Ian’s hand while he gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. For a split second, Bond could see a moment of joy in her eyes at seeing him, and also Director Smithson’s eyes, glad to have her back with him and know that she was safe. Then they both put back on their masks of professionalism.

They went to a private lounge to wait for their connecting flight to Philadelphia. They only had an hour before boarding and a lot of work to do. 

“Mickels died in 1997, left behind his wife and three children,” started Leiter.

“We know that. What don’t we know? What information is out there that we couldn’t read?” Bond said.

“Well, both of his sons attended Penn State…Pennsylvania State University…played sports, were in a fraternity. Both graduated with honors, Jeffrey in Philosophy, Steven in structural engineering.”

“And the daughter?” 

This from M. 

“Carolyn Mickels. Also graduated from Penn State. Aeronautical engineering.”

Felix handed Bond a stack of papers.

“These are the people that the children all interacted with in the past two weeks, covering the time frame of…” 

Leiter stopped, not sure how to address what had happened to M. He wasn’t sure if he was even supposed to know.

“It’s alright, Mr. Leiter, I’ve recovered from my little adventure with Mr. Hammond,” M said.

“Good to know, ma’am. I’ve highlighted a name you know…your Frederick Hammond. He and the eldest son, Jeffrey, spoke on the phone two days before he was found in your house.”

Bond’s interest piqued immediately, as did M’s. They had finally found the connection.

“We’ve gone back even farther. Jeffrey Mickels and Eugene Hammond were roommates in college.”

M took the papers from Leiter’s hands and read the information that he just told her. 

Jeffrey Mickels, son of a man who had once threatened her and her husband, was friends with the man who was driving the lorry that had hit her company car, killing her husband and driver. He had also had communication with the lorry driver’s brother just a few days before that man turned up dead, in her bed, after she had been drugged.

The implication was clear: Her husband’s death was not retribution for her actions as an employee with the British Secret Intelligence Service. She felt the vice grip that had been on her heart for so long loosen and start to fall away. 

“How did they get into my flat?” she asked.

Leiter answered her. 

“Steven is in electrical engineering. He owns an electronics firm. Bond said your alarm code was tricked into accepting a false code as the right one. Something he would probably know how to do, even if we don’t.”

Bond and M looked at each other, both a little shocked at this revelation. 

“I wonder if…” M started to say. 

“I doubt any of them even knew who you are. And I doubt if any of them have a clue about the hell that is about to rain down on them,” Bond finished her sentence for her. Knowing her guilt over the possibility that her position caused her husband’s death, he was finding all of this information interesting. 

“Of course, that also says that MI6 hides your identity and position well,” said Bond. This statement drew smiles from the Americans, who never truly understood the anonymity that surrounded her, not even Smithson. His name and face were commonly known, he was used in news stories when needed although he admitted to M he was sometimes jealous of her ability to hide from the media, the politicians, and the public. But he also knew that she wasn’t immune to private government backlash, that she was summoned on a regular basis into the Prime Minister’s office for a good dressing down when things went wrong. 

“No doubt they were told by their parents how Emmett ‘double-crossed’ their father, and drove him to ruin and despair. They must have decided as adults to get vengeance against someone who had gone on to be a highly successful physician and well-respected in his field,” responded M. 

“There’s more, M,” said Ian, his first contribution to the conversation. “We have more evidence linking others, including another college friend who was in medical school. He could have concocted the drug potion that put you out. We also have a link between Steven and a known thug in London, more than likely the one who shot Frederick Hammond. We have round trip flights between Philadelphia to London. And so much more. It’s all there. They really didn’t bother to cover their tracks.”

He handed M more papers but before she could start reading it was time to board their flight. And it was all there, in her hands, everything she needed to know about the sequence of events that lead to that horrific New Year’s Eve over three years ago when her world had been turned upside down. It almost seemed anti-climactic to her, and almost unfair, that all her pain and guilt, all the darkness in her life, had come down to several sheets of paper that fit easily into her briefcase. 

M looked uncomfortable, as if she didn’t quite know how to process this information. Bond saw Smithson start to reach for her hand but stop mid-air. Then put his hand back on the table. 

M saw this, took his hand into hers and squeezed. Then she smiled at him. 

“Well then,” she said. “Let’s go and get them.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later it was over. Leiter, Bond and other CIA agents found the two brothers at their shared home in suburban Philadelphia. They offered little resistance, probably knowing that they would be found out sooner or later. 

But neither of them ever expected that the arresting officials would be CIA. Or that they stood the possible chance of extradition to the United Kingdom.

M and Ian watched everything unfold from the car, sitting in silence at what was going on in front of their eyes and letting their agents do their work. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Then they went after the sister at her downtown loft apartment. She offered up even less resistance than her brothers. They cleared the apartment and were getting ready to leave when a flash of light caught Bond’s eye as he was closing the door. He reopened the door and looked in the direction of the flash. He saw that it was a reflection of the hallway light off of something shiny and silver lying underneath the table across the from the door.

He walked over and picked it up, then almost dropped it when he realized what it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ice clinked in the glass as Ian poured her a whiskey. They had returned to their hotel room at the same time, kissed a brief hello, then put down their briefcases and poured drinks. They didn’t speak much. At this point there was nothing more to say…about the day, the mission, or the fact that tomorrow they would once again part ways and go back to their own lives in different countries. 

After her third sip of whiskey, M realized that she wanted to be in bed with him, surrounded by him. She put down her drink and kissed him hard, putting her arms around his body and pulling him up against her. Before he could truly react, she was pulling him toward the bed by his necktie, simultaneously kissing him and removing her own clothing, button by button, piece by piece. 

He let her pull him, content to let her be in control. He liked her strength, her power. He liked it when she called the shots. He also knew the emotional turmoil she must be feeling at the closure she received today regarding her husband, the guilt that had consumed her for the past three years.

He sensed he was going to be used tonight as an emotional crutch, and he was okay with that. He would take any chance to be alone with her.

Before long they were in the bed and he was on top of her, cradling her head in his hands and moving in and out of her body with long, even strokes, a rhythm that she enjoyed, even if she never reached climax. 

She loved his weight on her, the way his warmth enveloped her completely. She loved the way he spoke softly to her and called her ‘Olivia’ in private and ‘M’ in public. She loved the way his body smelled when he worked up a sweat during sex…clean but salty with just a hint of cologne left over from the morning. She loved the way he gently kissed her lips, then her face, then her neck. She loved the way he massaged and kissed her breasts and the way he politely entered her, almost as if she would crack if he went too fast.

She loved him. 

The orgasm hit her unexpectedly, and hard. It was a feeling she hadn’t experienced in many years and the force and sharpness of it made her gasp out loud. Her body bucked involuntarily in reaction and she dug her nails into Ian’s back. He groaned in her ear and moved just enough to make sure she finished.

He was spent moments after her and for a few minutes neither of them moved. She was almost in shock at what had just happened to her body. She was still breathing hard, trying to catch up to the sensation that was still lingering between her thighs and simmering in her blood. It had been so long for her, and the first time in her life with a man who wasn’t Emmett. She wanted to cry but the tears wouldn’t fall.

Eventually he slid off of her and lay on his back next to her. He was also still breathing hard. 

“You…finally…Olivia…”

“Yes. And it was amazing. You are amazing, Ian.”

He laid there for a few more minutes, enjoying the moment, enjoying the knowledge that he had finally pleased her. No matter how many times she said ‘it was okay’ he wanted nothing more than to hear her gasp in pleasure and feel her body convulse under his. 

“What was different this time?” he asked.

She rolled over and propped herself up on one elbow, then reached over and stroked his face with her fingers, tracing the outline of his cheekbone.

“I realized…” 

She wasn’t sure how to say this.

“I realized that I love you.”

He smiled at her words. Words he had waited a long time to hear. Since Hong Kong years before. He kissed her.

“And I love you.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They woke up several times during the night and reached for each other, twice for physical pleasure, other times just to hold each other and talk. They talked about their families, retirement, even the weather. 

She told him about Bond finding out about the relationship, how angry he had been. She didn’t tell him about the middle-of-the-night confrontation or that she had struck her own agent. 

“Bond doesn’t like me,” Ian said. “None of your agents do.”

M wasn’t sure how to respond to that. 

“My agents don’t know you, Ian, so they don’t trust you. I trained them that way. And as for Bond, you put a ‘Capture or Kill’ order out on him. What do you expect?” They were both breaking their promise of no business in the bedroom. 

“I know. I was so wrong about that one. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

“Do you think that would help?”

“No. In fact, sometimes Double-Oh Seven has to be treated roughly. It is how I get and keep his attention sometimes.” She didn’t tell him about her accusing Bond of wanting her sexually. She had known within seconds that it wasn’t true but had thrown that at him anyway to knock him off balance. And it had worked.

“It surprises me sometimes how harsh you are with your staff, your agents,” he said. “And yet…” 

She propped herself up on one elbow, curious to hear what his ‘and yet’ meant.

“And yet, they adore you, would do anything for you. Sometimes I wish I had that type of relationship with my agents. I see how they are with you; I see how they protect you.”

He leaned over and kissed her.

“I’m not saying I don’t have good relationships with my agents. I’m just saying it’s different.”

“That’s because no matter how ‘harsh’ I am with them, in their eyes I’m still a sweet little old grandmother.”

He reached over and pulled her body onto his and kissed her again.

“They wouldn’t think you were a sweet little old grandmother if they knew what you had been doing for the past 9 hours.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The four of them met at the airport the next morning after a quick breakfast at a local coffee shop. Nobody seemed to want to say anything, feigning interest in the bland eggs and old coffee.

M and Ian didn’t show any sort of personal interaction in front of their agents. They were both far too professional for that. And they had already said their good-byes in private that morning. 

At the airport it was finally time to part ways. The Americans were leaving for Washington, D.C. from one terminal, the British for London, from another. 

Felix and Bond shook hands. 

“What’s her name, Bond? Do you even know?” Leiter asked.

“I do Felix, and if I tell you then you’ll be forever under her spell. Best not to have that happen,” Bond replied, laughing.

“Okay, but one day I want to know, and I’ll tell you some deep dark American secret in return.”

“Cheers, Felix,” answered Bond. “Always good to work with you. Thank you for helping me help her.” 

“Glad I could help, my friend. I know how much she means to you. And I look forward to our next search and destroy mission together,” Leiter responded. Bond stepped away from him and looked for M.

She was waiting for him in the corridor leading to their terminal. He thought she was watching him say farewell to Leiter, but when he finally stood next to her he realized she was still looking in the same direction, the direction Smithson was now walking away from them. Bond could just barely see his blue jacket in the crowd. He half expected Smithson to turn and bid one last farewell, but he kept walking. 

Bond understood his actions and he hoped M did, too. There was only one way to walk away from her: briskly and without looking back. If you did, you would return to her, take her in your arms, and promise to love her and keep her safe until the end of time. Bond silently commended Smithson on his ability to walk away from a woman he obviously loved. He also was silently grateful that he was one who was still with her. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Epilogue

Bond pulled his Aston Martin in behind M’s black Jaguar and motioned an acknowledgement to her driver, Samuel. He had called Tanner but was told she was out and Tanner wasn’t sure exactly where she had gone to.

Bond knew where to find her. 

She was sitting on the edge of her husband’s grave, wrapped in her large shawl to keep warm against the brisk fall day. Fresh flowers were in the urn on the headstone, the blooms and long leaves fluttering in the wind. In her hands she clutched the silver picture frame that Bond had found in Carolyn Mickel’s house with the photograph of her and Emmett, taken about 40 years earlier, at Ascot Race Course, on Derby Day. 

He sat next to her his heart aching so much for her, all that she had suffered, and all that he had put her through.

“I’m so sorry, M. For everything.”

He could only hope that she picked up on the double meaning of his apology, for the tragedy of the loss of her husband and the pain that his foolishness had caused her.

“Me, too, Bond. This was all such a waste. In my entire career I’ve never truly understand the capacity of human beings to hurt one other.”

Bond wasn’t sure if he should read the same double meaning into her words. He looked at her sideways and pondered what to say.

“We’re okay, Bond, don’t worry. I won’t have you killed anytime soon,” she said, not looking up.

“And you and Director Smithson?” 

“We’re good. He’ll be here in a few weeks for Christmas.”

“What’s in the future for you two?”

“I don’t know. This is uncharted territory for both of us. One day at a time, I suppose.”

She looked down at the photograph in her hands.

“We’re staying home New Year’s Eve, in case you were wondering,” she added.

“Good to know.”

He reached over, placed his hand on hers and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek. He got up and returned to his car, leaving her alone to finally say good-bye to her past and, hopefully, move forward into her future. 

~FINIS~


End file.
